Shadows in the Fog
by NathanGreg
Summary: A new Shadow walks the realm of the Entity to bring new challenge and suffering to the Survivors.
1. The Shadow of the Fog

Shadows in the Fog

 _(Benedict Baker's Journal)_

It has been a long time since my last journal. I intended to write "many days", but sunlight does not exist in the fog. I do not know how long I have remained prisoner here. I have met my demise more times than any sane human should, and for so long I have found nothing to help me get out of this never ending nightmare.

But, today (if that phrase even means anything after another awakening) I believe I may have discovered a piece of the puzzle. I cannot be sure, but my instinct tells me that I must be. The puzzle is one of the Killers. At the last hunt, I met another one of the hellish fiends that stalk us. I traveled down a path in the woods (one I am certain I have traversed before, but there is no rhyme or reason to the fog) and it lead me to what appeared to be an enormous castle. Many of the locations within the Entity's realm are decrepit ruins, but this castle seemed to be well kept, with many torches lining its walls. I tried to navigate its sprawling courtyard, but the fog was thicker there and the moon dimmer.

Never before had I seen something like this within the fog. I began to think that this is giant castle may be home of the Entity itself. But then I saw one of those generators that are tied to the gates. Someone was working on it, alone. I thought about approaching, about helping her as is sometimes necessary, but I saw the mist darken as something came out. I saw its eyes before I saw it. The beast came out of the mist and slashed at the poor soul, whom, evidently new to the hunt, had not even seen it coming. Despite the scream being piercing, I barely heard it.

The fiend that came out of the fog was a woman of imposing height, whose red eyes glowed with the hellish Stain that all the Killers bore. Shadows seem to leak from her like ink in water. In her hands was a long, dark blade that dripped the blood of her prey. Her clothes caught my eye. They were the clothes of an aristocrat, a person of noble standing in old London. I knew the passage of time within the Entity must be different from back home. I couldn't begin to fathom how long this mistress from hell had resided here. She was smiling. It was not a hellish grin of a deranged lunatic but a simple smile of someone pleased with their work. I knew that many of the beasts did not come to the Entity willingly. They had to be convinced; tortured until their was not a trace of their soul left in them. But this...woman...she had not shied from the Entity's dark touch. Much like the shape with the rubber mask, she came here of her own accord.

I knew what was coming...or at least I thought I did. Usually, once you are caught by one of the fiends, they drag you towards the meathooks, where they hang you until the Entity comes to claim you. I have seen this many times, and been a victim of it many times more. The creature sheathed her blade, reached down, and grabbed the unfortunate soul by the neck and lifted them up to her face, paying no mind to their struggles. She opened her mouth and...I'm not sure what I thought she was going to do, but she seemed to breath deeply. The victim's frantic resistance diminished and I could see something being pulled from their body. I do not know what, but it seemed as an essence of some kind was being sucked right out of them, as if she were devouring their very soul. The beast closed her eyes and seemed to be indulging herself. The victim struggled weakly for another moment before going limp in her hand. The dark one took one more long pull from their weakened prey before dipping her head back, her eyes closed, a look of savoring and satisfaction etched on her face.

It was then that I should have left. There was nothing I could do for the poor soul, but I could save myself. But I couldn't bring myself to. Most of the beasts waste no time taking their victims to the meathooks. This didn't seem the case with this one and I couldn't help but wonder as to what would happen next. The fiend opened her eyes finally, smiled at her slack prey, and, with one quick move of her arm, threw them over her shoulder as I had seen done countless times before. The poor fellow (I still could not tell the gender of the person) seemed to realize what was happening and flailed their arms weakly in a vain attempt to latch onto something to pull themselves free. It did not matter. One of the hooks was mere meters away and soon enough the ritual began with its signature scream.

The old scenario opened itself to me once more and once more I was unsure of how to proceed. Once more a soul hung five feet off the ground with a witness standing mere feet away. I could help the person. But I was unfamiliar with this fiend. I had encountered many of the others, some multiple times; I felt as if I could predict their patterns, their movements. But I didn't know her and I wasn't sure I wanted to. If I stole her prey she'd find me and I'd be thoroughly more acquainted with whatever she had done to the poor soul before throwing them onto the hook. She had not yet left, but seemed to be admiring her work, watching the prey squirm as they attempted to wriggle off the hook with no avail. I could see the ritual taking its affect. The long appendages of the Entity slowly came into being atop the meathook. It seemed to spawn with some new eagerness that it had not displayed before (except when down in the dungeons with the hooks below). Perhaps the Entity had some connection with this maiden of hell. I shuddered at the thought and decided that the matter was lost. I had born shame once, I would again as I turned to make my silent escape.

"Leaving, are you?" I froze in my tracks. "How sad. Do the lives of others mean nothing to you? Or are you a mere coward?"

The voice continued to keep me glued to where I was, my heart beginning to race. A part of my mind screamed to run and keep running until I either escaped or her cursed blade tore me down. But my legs seemed to be stuck and I couldn't move them. I slowly looked back through the shrubbery. My eyes met hers immediately; those horrible red eyes that illuminated her face. Her smile widened ever so slightly as my gaze met hers. I felt my body tremble from her stare.

"Come out here." She said simply. I didn't move. My legs still refused to listen to me. But I could feel myself slowly regain my senses from the shock of her voice. Soon I would start my flight for cover. "Run, if you must. But it will not make any difference. I have captured men a thousand times more capable than yourself. You will not get far. Spare yourself the futility."

My legs remained immovable as my mind continued to swirl. No thought could manifest. I had been a pawn in the Entity's game for what seemed like an eternity, facing death at every corner, tasting blood, and forever being tortured by it and its Killers. But this one, this...Shadow; the Killers only existed to hunt and kill, nothing more. Never before had they spoke to me, instead only grunting and breathing heavily. I heard more of their heartbeats than I did of their voices. No heartbeat emitted from this dark maiden.

When I finally could I forced myself to rise from the shrubbery. The Shadow before me raised a hand and beckoned for me to approach. With little other options I did so slowly, stopping about ten feet from her. I did not want to be in range of her blade. Up on the hook, the Entity's appendages grew and stretched, almost fully spawned.

"Kneel." She commanded.

I did so, and while I bent a thought occurred to me. I might die now, but death meant nothing here, or at least it had not for the longest time. Whatever I might learn from this Shadow I had to take the chance.

"Who are you?" I asked her.

A soft laugh. "You forget your place," She said. With one quick movement she drew the sword from its sheath and held it to my neck. "Shall I remind you?" I did not say anything more. My gaze was directed up to the meathook just in time to see the appendages strike down. I and others have managed to hold off the Entity's advance while on the hook, but this one was too drained to do anything. The Entity swiftly collected them and I shuddered watching the poor soul being taken up into the sky. I knew I had been taken up there and I still had not a single idea what occurred up in that terrible place with the Entity. I only knew that I would be joining that poor victim soon.

"Get up," The Shadow instructed me. "We're going for a walk, you and I."

"If you're going to kill me," I said. "Then just get on with it."

"Get up." Her hands grabbed the back of my neck painfully and wrenched me to my feet. The gauntlets on her hands nearly ripping my flesh. She shoved me forward, forcing me to walk. "Try to run and I'll find you another hook. There's plenty out here, you know."

And so we walked. We walked through the sprawling courtyard, following the stone paths. I saw some more of those generators, some of them showed signs of repair, but I saw nobody else. For a moment I wondered if there _was_ anyone else. But patches of dried blood spatter upon the stone made me feel isolated.

"Where are you taking me?" I asked, knowing she might kill me for it. "Are you taking me to the Entity?"

"The Entity?" She said, sounding amused. "Is that what you call it?"

"Do you have another word for it?"

"Perhaps. But it matters little." She paused for a moment. "It tells me things. It told me about you."

"About me...?" I suddenly dreaded the answers that might come from her. How much did the Entity know?

"Indeed," She said. Her gold gauntlet fell on my shoulder and I felt her presence as she leaned close to me. "It does speak to us. Sometimes just a whisper in your ear." She drew away, chuckling lightly. "Of course, the others only have a rudimentary understanding of its voice. Their fault, really. It's voice is quite clear if you listen properly."

"What does it want with us?" I asked her. "What do you want with me?"

"Just move."

We reached the Castle. As we went inside, I dared look back to her, meeting her eyes. I got a clearer look at her face. The fog and the Stain from her eyes had obscured it slightly, but I made out her features. It was a face I had seen before, but in my apprehension I couldn't clear my mind long enough to place where. Unlike many of the Entity's locations, this one was in much better condition. There were torches on the walls, knights armor displays, high glass windows some of which were stained with extravagant art, the signs of wealth from whatever life before being claimed by the Entity was everywhere. On some corridors were large silk banners displaying some kind of insignia.

Finally, she stopped me and motioned for a room that was labeled with a plague on the wall that read, "Study". I opened the door and we entered. The room was massive. At the far end was a mahogany desk with two great windows on either side, letting in the bright light of the full moon outside. On one side of the room was a huge bookshelf almost filled with tomes. The other wall was covered with mounted trophies of animals over a large roaring fireplace. At least I assume they were. Some indeed were, but others were species that I was certain never walked on Earth. And then, there was a large oil painting...a portrait of her. It finally hit me.

There were two lavish chairs before the fire place.

"Take a seat," She bid, motioning towards one of them.

"I asked who you were earlier," I said, sitting but never taking my eyes of hers. "But now that we're out of the fog I know exactly who you are."

"Oh?" The Shadow replied, looking amused.

"Yes," I took a breath. "You're Charmaine Von Brandt. This is your father's castle. Hundreds of years ago, you killed your family and all of the servants working for them. The crown sought to arrest you, but you were never found. The Castle burned down after you went missing."

"Yes," She replied. "But while what you see is merely a recreation, I assure you it is much finer than the real thing." The Shadow paused. "I must say: I am impressed. You are the first to be so knowledgeable about me. I'm really quite flattered."

"I did a piece about your family," I said. "On the anniversary of the events. What you did was terrible. But I suppose that's why the Entity wanted you. So it could corrupt and use you for its own evil purposes."

"Corrupt?" The woman replied. She closed her eyes and suddenly the constant stream of shadows that leaked from her ceased and when she re-opened her eyes the red stain in them was replaced by pupils, irises, and white. Human eyes. Cold, sadistic eyes, but human nonetheless. "Whatever do you mean?"

I was taken aback by her now. A moment ago she had resembled a fiend from the darkest depths of Hell itself. Now she looked the high ranking aristocrat that she was before. The bloody events of the Von Brandt Castle had happened over a century ago. Yet her appearance had not changed from the oil paintings I had seen of her in the history books.

"I've seen the other Killers of the fog," I said. "Many of them bear scars of the Entity. You do not."

She didn't respond for a moment. Merely smiled at me in her cold way. "It is true what you say. It really is a shame. It can show you such wonderful things, grant you such fascinating powers, even grant eternal life. And it asks for so little! I cannot fathom why some would squander such an opportunity. Not all of them are foolish enough, though. The fellow in the rubber mask wasn't. Nor was the Crooked one, for that matter. I suppose it's of little consequence. They come around. They always do."

I didn't respond. She had said, "in life". I didn't know what that meant. I wasn't sure if I wanted to know, and I didn't think she'd tell me.

"Some even began where you have," She continued. "Philip Ojomo was one. He tried to hide in the woods after killing his employer. He was very stubborn; very short sighted. Much like you, I suppose. Eventually, he could take no more. I brought him here...to this very room, where he sat where you are sitting now. I spoke to him. It spoke to him...firmly. Then, I presented him with the bell..."

A stark horror was filling me. I suddenly could sense the Entity closer to me than before. It was not just that I could feel it in the rustle of the leaves of the woods or smell it in the air, no. I thought I could feel its very presence in the room with us. I shuddered. And yet, I could also feel anger brewing inside me. Anger at what had been done to so many unfortunate souls brought into this hell, this never ending nightmare.

"If your intention is to persuade me, you may as well place me on a hook now." I said, doing everything I could to keep my voice steady. "I would rather die than kill my fellow man for the Entity's pleasure."

She laughed softly. "Oh, you needn't worry about that."

Forgetting my brief moment of bravery, I screamed as she reached for me, the cold metal of her gauntlet digging in the flesh of my throat. She lifted me up to her smiling face.

"You see, I know who YOU are. You're Benedict Baker. The writer of this lore." She held up a leaflet of pages that I instantly recognized. Pages from my journal that I had ripped out and left behind for my companions in the fog. A guide of sorts. I had first thought it was a pointless decision, but I have met others who have come across my pages, recognizing my name. Now she held the pages. "The truth, Mr. Baker, is that we've been watching you for some time. All of you. Many of you have learned much. You've adapted to this realm. You've gotten...comfortable. And that simply won't do. The Fog is very flexible. It can adapt too. And when it does, all that you think you've learned will prove fruitless. That's why I brought you here: to remind you of your place."

She threw me to the floor. I cried out as the merciless stone hammered my tired body. Then, she stepped over me and walked over to the desk.

"Do you truly believe the Entity listens to you?" I asked, painfully climbing to my feet. "You and I are not so different, you know. We are both just pawns. Nothing more. Once the Entity is done with both of us it will cast us aside."

"You know nothing." The Shadow replied, turning back to me with that ghastly smile. Her gaze returned towards the desk and it was then that I noticed the vase of roses upon it. The vase was polished and black, glimmering in the moonlight. The roses were dark red and glowed with the Entity's touch. "Besides, the Entity can be persuaded by anything. You just have to Offer it something. You've done it, I've done it, everyone has. It's part of the game, you see. This game is inherently unfair. You have to tilt it to your favor in order to have the greatest chance of victory. It can change the entire game for you. You just need to have the right bribe."

She produced something from a drawer of the desk and then turned back to me. In her hand she held a chain that was a dark as the woods outside. At the base of the chain was a human skull. Its empty eye sockets stared at me and its jaw hung open in a silent, yet piercing scream. With a quick thrust she tossed the abominable thing into the fire, which consumed it eagerly. Dark smoke floated into the room.

"Grant me the favor of killing one!" She called to the smoke.

A voice responded. A horrible low moan of a voice. I did not understand it. I don't think any sane person could. But it broke my paralysis and I hurried for the door. Before I could reach for the knob, however, black appendages exploded across the jamb and guarded it. In vain I tried to pry the door open, but the Entity held fast, biting at my hands, drawing blood.

I turned in time for her to grab my throat once again. The shadows had returned as well as the horrible stain in her hellish eyes. She smiled at me once more and led a finger from her free hand down my check with with affection. I could not breathe and her grip was unfathomably strong. I thrust my hands forward without knowing what I intended to do with them. And I was never able to discover. In a swift move, she drew her demonic sword and its cold steel pierced my belly. My mouth opened to scream but I found that I could not. My lungs lacked the air, my body lacked the energy. I could only feel myself growing weaker and weaker. When on the hook, once the Entity has impaled you with its appendages, it peels off your flesh and bone and leaves only the soul that it then takes. This very thing happened to me as I when I gazed at my hands there was only a ghostly apparition of them.

The Shadow smiled at me for a moment and then opened her maw. I her heard her inhale deeply and I was suddenly drawn into her gaping mouth, into the dark abyss that was within her. The last thing I heard before losing my senses was the beating of her wretched heart and the soft rumbles of her belly.

And horrible, horrible screams that echoed ceaselessly.

Now, here I sit. Once again writing in the glow of the campfire that I once again awoke next to. Another death, another awakening. But now, more than ever, I find myself hesitant to leave the safety of the fire. The words of the Shadow echo in my mind, as well as the bone chilling screams that seem to exist within her. The Entity feeds off our suffering and the brief fleeting false hope that we feel each time we open the gates or find the hatch. Is it possible that this Shadow feeds much like the Entity? I do not know. What is clear though is that the trials will become more grisly in the future. I feel I must try to write a new lore, a new warning for all who arrive here. But until I know for certain what the Fog has in store, I must wait.

There is something that gives me hope (as always seems to be the case here). I cannot be certain, but the feeling is inescapable.

I feel that the very heart of the Entity resides within the Von Brandt Castle.

Perhaps something they can set us free...


	2. A Trial in the Fog

Dwight Fairfield quickly walked down the steps of the foundry. In his hands he clutched a flashlight that he'd found in a desk in the office above. There was always something up there; no matter how many times he looted it. He stepped lightly. The catwalk groaned sometimes.

He heard nothing but his own deep breaths. Beyond the Foundry was only the rustle of the woods. As soon as he made to the ground level, he made sure to keep his eyes on the floor. This was the territory of the Trapper, the one Killer who laid bear traps all around his turf. The omnipresent danger of one of those traps ripping into his shins made this Killer one of Dwight's most feared. He remembered all too clearly stepping into one of the traps; the loud snap, the sharp pain as the teeth bit hard into his flesh, his own screams, and then finally that mask. That horrible grinning mask as that huge beast of a man came barreling towards him. Almost every encounter ended with Dwight on a hook and with him later vowing to be more vigilant in the future, only to fall victim to the same traps in the midst of a panicked flight.

No traps were revealed by the glow of the flashlight. The tool would last for a bit. He had brought some extra batteries into the Fog.

As always, one of the generators was down on the factory floor, in the midst of the massive machinery. Holding the flashlight between his teeth, Dwight opened the panel and began working on the wiring. A long time ago, before the moonshine, he had been one of the lesser mechanically inclined men. Anything beyond duct tape and glue had beyond his skills. Now he felt that, if he ever managed to get out of the never ending woods, he could fix damn near anything. It was a skill that he'd been forced to learn. The damn generators were the only way back to the Campfire. And one had to be very careful with them. One wrong move and the damn things sparked and hissed loud enough to bring one of the Killers over.

Dwight worked diligently, and soon enough, the generator began to come alive, its pistons slowly begin to pump. Their ruckus was not welcome. Not only did it attract the Killer, but it also made it hard to hear them coming. The ex-manager found himself looking over his shoulder constantly, dreading what he'd see each time. But there was nothing but the empty Foundry each time.

He knew that the others were making progress. One of the generators in the distance had gone live not too long ago. No screams had accompanied its activation, a good sign. Jake typically knew how to handle himself, as did Meg. The gambler was out there too. Ace. He was different than most of the others. A confidence existed in him that Dwight wished he had. His own had begun to fade ages ago, and continued with each and every trial in the woods. Jake hadn't thought much of the man, at first, but he'd proven himself to be quite competent. His unusual demeanor in the dreary fog also gave a much needed morale boost to the others.

SNAP!

A scream. A woman's.

Meg.

Dwight turned from the generator and hurried to the large hole in the wall that had once been a window. He looked out into the Fog, but saw little at first. Then, he saw him. A large figure covered in shadow as he made his way towards the screams, the red glare from his eyes light his path ahead of him.

The manager started to vault through the window when he forced himself to a stop. He shone the flashlight on the ground. The trap sparkled.

I almost jumped right into it, Dwight thought with a shudder. He carefully jumped over the trap and followed the monster, making sure not to walk over any patches of grass.

…

The pain, though familiar, was still all too much to bear.

Tears streamed from Meg's eyes and blood soaked her fingers. She desperately tried to grab at the trap, doing her best to not look at what had become of her leg. Her bloody fingers slipped and couldn't grasp the metal. She panted and began to weep.

Please...please...PLEASEPLEASE!

That's when she heard it. Poe described it as a low, dull, quick sound, like a watch enveloped in cotton. It was a sound she knew well; the mad heartbeat of a Killer with prey in sight. A Killer about to fulfill his duty to the Entity.

She looked up and screamed as the mask came down on her.

…

"We've got to get her!" Jake protested in a hiss.

"Buddy, you go out there and all that will happen is you'll hang too," Ace said, holding the young man in place. For an older guy, his grip was strong.

"And you're just gonna let that happen!?"

"Yes," The gambler replied. "Look, you gotta understand; We're in his house right now. And where I come from, there's one cardinal rule: the house always wins. You can't beat the house if you throw all your chips in like a maniac."

"Well, then what the fuck are we gonna do!?" The Trapper was closing in. Jake could almost hear his heavy breaths through his mask. "Just let her die!?"

"We see how the game plays out." Ace said, watching the scene too. "We got dealt a bad hand here, buddy. But we're only at the flop. Don't lose hope till we reach the river."

…

Meg almost forgot the pain as the Trapper closed in. She was promptly reminded when his rough hands ripped the jaws of the trap out of her leg.

The woman tried to crawl away from the hulking man, frantically using her elbows to do so. Memories of the last trial were still fresh in her mind. It had been Claudette's turn for the hook. And Meg Thomas did not want to join her up there with the Entity. No matter how many times it happened, the torment was just as horrid as the first time. As an athlete, Meg's body was used to pain. But her body never seemed to grow accustomed to the Entity's torture.

The Trapper reached down and grabbed the woman by the seat of her pants and hoisted her over his shoulder.

"No!" Meg cried, tears streaming down here cheeks. "Let me go!" She struggled, and wriggled, and flailed her arms wildly. Anything to prevent the hook. One of her hands a crooked pillar of bricks that had once been part of a wall of some long gone building. She grasped it with all of her strength. The Trapper was stopped in his tracks as Meg pulled against him. The big man grunted and then dropped his unholy cleaver onto the ground. Using his free hand, he grabbed Meg's ruined shin and squeezed. The athlete's scream echoed far into the fog and her grip was lost.

The Trapper bent to recollect his weapon, when a twig snapped in front of him. Looking up, he met the eyes of Dwight Fairfield for only a moment before the light consumed his vision.

…

The big man grunted loudly and held his hands before his face to shield himself. He took a steep backwards and stumbled, allowing Meg to slide off his shoulders.

"RUN, MEG!" Dwight hollered, turning and running for his life. His heart was racing. I can't believe I just did that, he thought wildly.

Meg could never get used to the Entity's torture, but her body knew how to deal with pain while running. She got to her feet quickly. Her shin was in bad shape, but her leg didn't seem broken. As fast as she could she ran/limped as fast as she could. She was aware of her grunting with each step, but couldn't seem to make herself stop.

"Meg! Meg!" A voice hissed from the shadows near her. Her head turned towards it and she saw Jake and Ace approaching her from the shrubbery.

"Guys!" She sobbed, limping to them.

"That was one hell of a turn!" Ace said, grinning. "C'mon! Let's get moving!"

The three Survivors quickly hurried off into the fog of the woods.

…

Evan slowly got to his feet, his vision slowly returning to him.

Anger filled him. Hate filled him. He snatched his cleaver. The tracks were clear, but they would fade quickly. He had to be swift. He had a job to do. And he would not stop until it was done. Never stop till it's done was one of Archie MacMillan's numerous pieces of advice.

 _Evan..._

He stopped in mid-step. Wind rustled through the leaves of the trees throughout the Estate.

 _Time is short. The trials must end swiftly._

He recognized the voice. It was her. The woman made of shadows. Evan did not like her, but he knew better to ignore her. It was not often that he heard her voice, but she often spoke for the Fog when she did. So he listened, the heat of the wounds from her whip still blistering his skin.

 _Spare them the hooks, Evan,_ the wind whispered _. You may deal with them as you see fit. It grants permission. Just put an end to the trial...quickly._

Though the wind rustled for a moment longer, she said no more.

Evan MacMillan stood where he was for a moment.

Beneath his grotesque mask, a grin spread across his lips.

…

"It's not good," Jake Park said, cringing at the wound on Meg's leg. The poor woman was lying in his lap. She did not reply. Only groaned.

"Do we have anymore bandages?" Dwight asked, looking over his shoulder. He was very nervous. He had been the one to blind the Trapper, and he knew that he'd have some serious hell to pay if that monster of a man got hold of him.

"Won't need them," Ace replied, that crooked grin coming to his lips. He opened the first aid kit he'd brought into the Fog and produced a shiny syringe that contained a strange purple liquid inside that gleamed in the moonlight. "I got something better."

He stuck the needle in Meg's arm and pressed the plunger. Meg cursed loudly. Then, right before his eyes, Dwight saw the wounds from the trap's teeth begin to just...disappear. One moment her leg was gushing blood, the next moment the source was nowhere to be seen. Meg stopped moaning and looked up suddenly. She looked confused.

"Go ahead and stand up, little lady," Ace said, smiling.

"I don't think I..."

"Of course you can. Trust me."

Meg hesitated for a moment. She moved the foot on the previously ruined leg and found that no pain shot up. Surprised, she jumped to her feet without any trouble at all. Jake and Dwight stared.

"Holy shit," Jake said, his eyes wide.

"Yep," Ace replied. "Well, I hope you liked that little trick, kids, cause that's all ol' Ace has up his sleeve." He tossed the med-kit aside.

"What did you just inject me with," Meg asked, sounding just as bewildered as Jake.

"No idea."

"Wha...?"

"I don't know." Visconti replied, standing. "But it works. It's not the first time I've seen it. Someone did it to me after getting me of one of the hooks. Shoulder hurt like hell and I thought I was gonna pass out. Suddenly, the stick me with one of those syringes and the pain just melts away. Strange stuff. But, like I said, it works."

"And that guy just gave something like that to you?" Jake asked.

"Oh no. That wasn't his. I found that near a hook. Guess whoever brought it didn't get a chance to use it. Poor bastard. Lucky for us, though."

"No kidding," Dwight said. "But we gotta move. I was working on one of the generators back at the Foundry. We should head over and fix it."

"Not a bad idea," Ace said, adjusting his sunglasses, which he wore constantly. How he was able to see in this darkness was beyond Jake's grasp, but he'd proven time and time again that he could. It was just another mystery in the Entity's realm. "After you, dear leader."

The group quietly made their way back towards the Foundry. All of them made sure to keep a close eye on the ground. Dwight led them to the same window he had climbed out of.

"Careful," He said softly. "There's a trap right there by the window."

"Just spring it," Meg said.

"No," Dwight hissed. "He'll hear that. Just climb around it."

Meg went first. Then Ace. Dwight followed. After he was through, he turned, expecting to see Jake coming in. He wasn't. He was nowhere in sight. A soft metallic sound came from the other side of the window. Dwight leaned out and saw Jake bent over the trap.

"What are you doing!?" Dwight cried as silently as he could. "Just leave it alone!"

"I'm not gonna spring it," Jake said, without looking up. "I'm gonna break it. One less trap for him is good for all of us. Just..."

Whatever he was going to say, Dwight never got to hear. A large arm suddenly grabbed him by his hair. Jake yelped in surprise. The Trapper stepped into view and for one terrible moment, Dwight made eye contact with him. He heard the large man grunt. Then, he lifted Jake up and then slammed him head first into the ground.

SNAP!

That was all they heard. There was no scream.

Meg had already taken off. Dwight saw her run for the exit of the Foundry at her top speed. Dwight remained frozen, staring at the Trapper who looked down at Jake for a moment. Perhaps watching to see if there was anything left in him.

 _Where did he come from..._ Dwight managed to think... _I didn't even hear..._

A loud pop erupted behind him as the generator came to life. He turned in time to see Ace grab his arm.

"Let's go, Dwight, move!"

Dwight still couldn't get his legs to go for a moment. Then he saw the Trapper swing one of his legs over the window frame. His gaze was on Dwight. That got him moving. Dwight and Ace hurried off to the other end of the building. Even before they made it out, the manager could hear the quick and heavy footfalls behind him.

"Split up!" Ace shouted as they broke out of the Foundry into the moonlight.

He ran to the left. Dwight went right. And he went as fast as his legs could carry him.

It didn't take long to realize the heavy footfalls were still coming behind him.

The manager didn't dare look back. Instead, he headed for some ruins ahead. Perhaps he could shake the Trapper in there. Behind him the footfalls were getting louder and he could almost hear the hollow sound of the heavy breathing through the mask.

That was when the red light crept into the corner of his vision.

Screaming, Dwight turned right hard. He felt the air of the swing brush his back.

He continued on. Now he could see a small opening into the broken walls of old buildings. One of the old pallets leaned against the bricks. Putting on his last bit of speed, he sprinted towards opening, ignoring the sounds behind him, and grabbed the boards and threw them down, closing the gap behind him, stumbling as he went. Looking back from the floor, Dwight finally looked back to see the Trapper recovering his balance. The boards had fallen on him. Rapid, deep grunts of anger were emitting to him and Dwight hurried to his feet.

CRASH!

The Trapper stomped on the boards, splintering them instantly. Without even thinking Dwight raised the only weapon he had: his flashlight. The Trapper advanced, weapon raised, but when the beam hit his eyes, he uttered a bark of pain and swung impulsively. Dwight dodged it and ran around behind the man. He almost lost his footing again, stumbling, the flashlight dropping from his hand. There was no time to stop and try to find it in the darkness.

He just had to run.

One more time he turned and saw the Trapper following him back through the opening. Dwight didn't need the mask to be removed to know that his pursuer was beyond furious. He was coming after him again. And when he caught up to the manager this time...

SNAP!

A trap sprung in the distance. A scream with it.

Dwight saw the Trapper stop, turning in that direction. In that moment, the four eyed former pizza delivery driver booked it for the safety of the Fog. He turned one more time to see the Trapper watching him go. Then, the big man turned and headed off into the night.

Someone was about to be in big trouble. Either Meg or Ace, unless another unfortunate fellow had wandered into the Estate. The scream had been too far to tell the sex of the person. Dwight stopped and leaned on a piece of machinery, panting. He wanted to follow the man. If Ace or Meg needed help, he wanted to help them. But, he also knew that was not always possible. Not here. Not in the Entity's world. Right now the best thing to do was to find more of the generators. That was the only way back to the Campfire.

"Psst!" A voice called. "Dwight!"

The manager turned and saw the gambler peering from behind some crates.

"Ace!" Dwight said, jogging to him. He paused. "So...that must mean..."

"Yeah, I think so," Visconti said, sighing. For once a grim demeanor was on his face. "Poor girl. Too much energy in her. Forgets to take it slow some time. But we can't do anything to her. You saw what he did to Jake, right?"

"Yeah," Dwight nodded. "Just killed him. Didn't even bother with the hooks."

Another scream suddenly pierced the night. This time, it was clearly a woman's. Meg. The scream went on for a moment before being abruptly cut off. The manager and the gambler looked at each other for a moment.

"Yeah," The gambler replied. "Seems stringing us up ain't in his plans right now."

"It's my fault," Dwight said, his voice trembling. The scream echoed in his ears. "I...I...I just wanted to save Meg. I..."

"It's not your fault," Ace shook his head. He then looked off towards where the scream had come. "It's something else. They don't ever skip the hook. They're not supposed to. I've been a thorn in more than one of their sides before and even then they've never skipped the stringing...even when I'm sure they'd love to. You know the rules here as much as they do. Something's telling him to do this."

"What do you mean?" Dwight asked. "Who?"

"I dunno," Ace shrugged. "Don't actually know if that's even the case. Just a hunch."

"What do we do now?" The manager asked. He swallowed hard and his skin was pale. "Only two of the generators are on. Without Jake and Meg, we're..."

"Forget the gens," The gambler shook his head. Then, amazingly, he grinned. "The cards may be stacked against us, Dear Leader. But Jake and I had a plan. An Ace up our sleeves, if you will."

"Ha-ha," Dwight replied, dryly. "I could almost watch you get strung on a hook."

"Night's still young," Visconti smiled. He reached into his pocket and brought out the key. Dwight had seen it before. Only once though. Many deaths ago he had held it in his hands. Before that, he hadn't even believed it existed. It had only been a rumor among his fellow prisoners. But it had been foretold in the journal, and now it was in the gambler's hand. "Ran back and snatched this while he went after you. All we gotta do is find the lock. You seen it?"

"No."

"Well, we'll just have to look for it."

The two of them set off into the Estate, ignoring all the generators that they came across. They kept low and quiet and stayed off the tall grass. Passing by the Foundry, Dwight was just able to see Jake's corpse still right by the window. He'd be back. They'd meet again at the Campfire, like always. Dwight thought he would never get used to that insane concept. He had died and had witnessed his friends dying multiple times, yet they always found each other again. Death meant nothing here. Each hike into the woods brought into another hunting grounds. More generators, more gates, more hooks, more death; all of which led right back to where they all started.

That damn Campfire.

Why did they even bother? Claudette had asked once. What was the point? Out in the woods was nothing but death. At least it was safe by the Campfire. They could stay there. Nothing forced them to go. Like death, hunger and thirst didn't exist here.

"So...what?" Ace had asked. "You just want to sit here? Eternity's a long time to spend sitting and toasting marshmallows."

"And going out there is better?" Claudette had shot back. "There's nothing out there, Ace. It just wants you to think there is so you'll keep going and those monsters can keep killing you over and over and over. No. I'm done. I'm out."

And for awhile, however long that was, Claudette had kept sincere to that stance. But, eventually, she too went out into the Fog once again. Ace was right: eternity was a long time to sit and do nothing.

"Stop," Ace spoke up suddenly, grabbing Dwight's shoulder. "I think I see it."

"Huh? Where?"

The gambler pointed. And just faintly, in the distance, Dwight saw something on the ground sparkle in the moonlight. It was the handle of the hatch.

BANG!

An explosion. It had sounded like one of the Generators. The Trapper, most likely. Working hard to prevent them from leaving.

"He's close." Dwight said, swallowing hard.

"Let's move."

The two of them hurriedly crept over to the hatch, keeping their heads down as they went. Dwight felt something metallic tap his shoulder. He saw Ace handing him the key.

"You do the honors, Dear Leader," Ace said, grinning. Dwight took the key. "I'll keep..."

SNAP!

Ace's expression did a complete 360. His grin turned into a painful scream, his sunglasses falling off his face, exposing his bulging eyes. Dwight, in shock, backed into a crate. For one horrible second, the key almost slipped out of his hand and into the dark grass.

"Open it!" Ace cried.

"Wh-Wh-What...?" Dwight stammered, his mind racing. "...r-r-right!"

He bent down and reached forward, but Ace slapped his hands away.

"Not THAT!" The gambler croaked. "THAT!" His bloody finger pointed at the hatch.

Dwight Fairfield froze for a second, again, not sure what to do. Then, when his senses came back, he dove for the hatch. It took a second for his trembling hands to force the key into the lock, but eventually it did. The lid of the hatch flung itself open and that low windy noise emitted from it: the dark call of its tunnels.

"I got it!" Dwight called. "I got it, Ace!"

He turned just in time to see the giant cleaver take Ace's head clean off. The Trapper barely hesitated as his eyes turned to him.

Then, he lunged for the manager.

With one last scream, Dwight grabbed the lip of the opening and propelled his body forward into the darkness. He felt strong hands brush the soles of his shoes, and knew he was going to die. He continued to to think so as he fell into the tunnels. It wasn't until the loud clash of the lid of the hatch banging itself shut that he realized that he had made it.

He had gotten out.


	3. Corruption - MacMillan's Torture

_Evan MacMillan's wounds bled heavily, dripping on the glittering, polished stone floor, but still he said nothing._

 _The whip cracked across his back again, digging into his flesh and making new tears across his skin. He wore nothing but a pair of simple overalls and his old work boots. The overalls were torn and only stayed in place by pieces of iron that stuck out of his right shoulder. He was seated on an old stool, his arms held in place by its shadow appendages that looked like the legs of a spider from some terrible nightmare. A bear trap held his left leg. The pain was immense and would have broken most men, but Evan would not allow himself to shatter. Nobody owned him, nobody gave him instructions._

 _Nobody but his father._

 _The Study was dark. The only light was the dim fire in the fireplace. He could still see all the eyes, though. The eyes of every single crow glimmered in the light. They were on every surface, watching._

 _"You will break," The voice said behind him. The woman covered in shadows. Evan didn't know who she was, but she was not alone in this place. There was something else here. Something big. Something otherworldly. He couldn't see it, but he could feel it. Could sense it. Could almost detect reflections of it in every single eye of every single crow who stared at him motionless in the darkness that was beyond the fireplace's solitary warm glow. "In time, you will."_

 _Her face suddenly slid into his view. He could almost feel the cold touch of the shadows that leaked off her. Her piercing, blood red eyes bore into his. The smile on her lips was the only part of her that was light._

 _"There's nothing but time here, Evan, believe me." She said. "So why resist? There's so much that can be done here, Evan, so much that can be accomplished! There is power here that is beyond compare and comprehension! To go against it, to struggle is simply foolish."_

 _MacMillan said nothing. He only stared into those eyes. The woman reached up and grabbed one of the rods and pressed down on it. The pain, which was already close to maddening, now flared up in an unholy burst and Evan moaned loudly._

 _"You should consider yourself so lucky, if I'm honest," The woman said, the smile audible in her speech. "We didn't want you. Not at first. It was your father. He had a...passion about him that aroused its interest, you see. But he was much too old and weak. His mind was gone. He couldn't be coerced."_

 _In spite of the pain, Evan lunged (or tried to) against his restraints, snarling and baring his teeth like an angry dog._

 _"Instead we got you...his servant, his..._ lap dog."

 _The pain had overtaken Evan again and he sat motionless in the chair again, staring...glaring. As the wounds burned and flared, so did his anger._

 _"Your father is gone, Evan," The Shadow woman went on. "But you still live. You have a future ahead of you. What that entails is entirely up to you. You can either sit in this room and endure this pain forever." She pushed down on the rod again and this time the agony forced a small scream from Evan's lips. He bit down on them hard enough to make blood squirt, but still the moans broke through. "Or you could have some common sense."_

 _Motivated by the fresh onslaught of pain, Evan once again straining against whatever nightmarish appendages bound him to the chair, raving at the woman. She only smiled. When he finally could not move again, she continued._

 _"I can see you're angry, and that's good. You're hungry for blood...my blood, assuredly. I will not offer that, nor shall you ever get it. However, that anger could be useful if you were to channel it elsewhere. Let me show you."_

 _Her face slid out of his view, finally, but what was behind it was not the darkened stone of the Study. Instead, what he saw was the forest that had surrounded the Foundry and the Estate, draped in a dim shroud of light from the moon. He saw the familiar view from the fire escape adjacent to the upstairs office of the Foundry. The cool wind blew against his flesh and wounds, soothing the burning pain. The smell of the machines, of the forest, of the minerals within the earth. It was the smell of home...his home. The home of the MacMillans._

 _Suddenly, the anger was gone. What came instead was a surprising peace. He was where he belonged. He was back at the Foundry. Back where he was in control. Where he gave the orders. He was the Enforcer and the workers had shivered whenever he walked by. This was his land, and he gazed at it with an almost loving look, never realizing that he was still bound to the chair. The crows still watched. He did not know how he had been taken from the Estate. All he could remember was the mine. The screams of the workers from behind the collapsed entrance. After the deed had been done he had begun to make his way back to his father. Something had happened as he exited the Foundry, however, and the next thing he could recall was waking up on the stone floor of the Study._ Her _study._

 _A twig snapped down below and Evan's gaze turned to it. Ordinarily, it would have been difficult to see the woman. She was small, and a Negro to boot, but Evan saw her clearly. His eyes were used to the dark by now. The Negro woman wore a ragged tank top, jeans, and a bandana on her head. As quickly as it had gone, the anger welling inside Evan MacMillan came alive. The woman didn't belong here. This was his home and she was trespassing. He wanted her gone. He wanted to punish her. To kill her, if he could._

 _"You're angry, Evan," The Shadow spoke. "And I want you to channel that anger towards her. Towards_ them _. There are more of them out there, Evan. All over your father's land. Your land." Evan's breathing got deeper. Yes, this was his land. That was damn right. Goddamn right. "I want you to hurt them, Evan. As many of them as you can, however you want. But you mustn't kill them. You must take them to the hooks. It will take them then. But it cannot take them unless you bring them to it. You must be swift! Do not let them escape you!"_

 _Something heavy fell into his lap. Evan looked down to see the empty eyes of a mask made from the remains of skeletons lying there. The mask bore a large grin. Evan looked at it curiously for a moment before raising his hands (completely forgetting that he could not have raised them mere moments ago) and picking it up. It felt smooth and cool to touch. The placed it over his face and jerked as a jolt of something hit him. A surge of power flooded him, causing a new wave of heat to burn across his wounds. But the pain was dwarfed by purpose. He now knew what he had to do._

 _Evan MacMillan stood from the chair, again hardly noticing that he could, and turned to head through his father's old office. He took a step when a sharp pain bit into his leg. He looked down and saw the bear trap still stuck to his leg. The man grunted and bent down and pried the heavy jaws of the metal trap open and pulled his leg free. The trap, as wells as his blood on its teeth, gleamed in the moonlight, and Evan considered it for a moment. He then continued through the office, still carrying the trap. It might come in handy._

 _Once down on the Foundry floor, Evan stopped near one of the entrances and placed the trap down on the ground and began to pry open its metal jaws. Then, he turned and rounded the factory, going out the other side of the building and circling around. He had long lost sight of the trespasser, but he had seen where she had been going and he headed that way quickly, prepared to search every nook and cranny of the area. Fortunately, he didn't have to. The trespasser had not gone far from the Foundry and was working on some sort of machine that Evan didn't recognize. But that didn't matter. That machine was his and he knew, just somehow knew, that allowing it to be repaired would only mean their escape. His step quickened and his empty hands were clenched in fists. A weapon was not needed by any means. It was not the first time he had killed with his bare hands. His heart began to race as he approached the man, the anger building and building and building..._

 _Whether it was his footfalls or the beating of his furious heart (the sound of which filled Evans head) that alerted him Evan was not sure, but the Trespasser looked up before he could reach him. She screamed and the sound delighted him. The black woman broke into a sprint, abandoning her machine without another thought. Evan pursued her, a grin forming under his mask. The woman had two options; the Foundry or the woods and of course she'd pick the former. She'd be more exposed out in the woods, but the Foundry would offer more cover. Maybe even a place to hide._

 _And just as he predicted the woman turned towards the Foundry entrance._

 _SNAP!_

 _Another scream. This one of pain. This one from his work. The satisfaction was immense._

 _She was sprawled in the doorway, attempting to crawl, but the heavy trap bitten into her ankle slowed her. Evan stood over her, listening to her wails and bawls as she screamed for someone, anyone, to save her miserable life. There was no one, however. No help for this little trespasser. Now it was time she learned. He reached down and pried the trap open. Once she was freed, Evan grabbed her by the throat and hoisted her off the ground and up to his face. His hand squeezed around her neck._

No.

 _Evan froze. The voice had not just come from nearby...it had come from inside his own mind. But it was not his voice, nor the voice of Archie MacMillan. It was_ her _voice._

Take her to the basement, Evan, _the voice commanded him_ , I will show you what to do with her.

 _Evan grunted. No, he was not going to be ordered anymore. Not here. Not in his Foundry. Not on his land. This was his job, his problem, and he would take care of it as he saw fit. He continued to squeeze._

 _Then, a sudden intense heat lashed at his back, followed by a bout of excruciating pain, and Evan released a choked howl as the whip dig into his flesh. He turned, expecting to see those blood eyes of hers. But there was nothing._

Move, you fool!

 _Evan groaned, doubling over slightly from the pain. It was then that he saw it. What it was, he could not say. At first, he thought it was a hallucination from the pain. He saw an orange reddish mark on the floor ground. No, not on the ground...through it. He could see some sort of arches in the ground. They were positioned right where the basement was. Cold curiosity filled him, and he flung the woman over his shoulder like a barley back. She was fading. The combined effects of his strangulation and the blood seeping from her torn ankle had taken hold._

 _The basement had changed. The shelves of tools, machine pieces and equipment, etc were all gone. The cabinets they had been stored in were still there, but sitting in the middle of the room, in place of piles of parts, were a series of arched beams, faced back to back in a cross formation. At the end of each arch was a steel meat hook. There was power down here, Evan could feel it all over. Not only sense it, he could see it. An ominous light, as blood red as the eyes of the Shadow woman, was pouring into the room from every crack._

 _He needed no instructions. Evan MacMillan stepped forward and flung the trespasser onto the hook like a carcass of cattle, piercing her shoulder with the hook._

 _The hook awoke her and the scream echoed in the small chamber. The light glowed brighter._

 _It was pleased._

 _"_ Very good, Evan." _She spoke in his mind again._ "Now...witness!"

 _From atop the arch, he could see something manifesting from the beam. It arose like the trunk of a tree rapidly growing from the earth before splitting off into four appendages that looked like the legs of some nightmarish spider. Two of the appendages seized the trespasser from the sides and held her steady on the hook, while a bigger appendage arced itself and impaled the woman from the front. The fourth appendage them did the same from the back. The trespasser went limp and as she did, something else happened. Her skin seemed to peel off of her rapidly and for a brief moment Evan thought he would see the organ and muscle that lied beneath. Instead, what he witnessed was a shadowy apparition that bore the woman's figure. Before he could watch this for much longer, all the appendages except the back one released the apparition, and the back one lifted her up. Suddenly, move of the nightmares limbs reached through the ceiling of the basement and greedily snatched whatever was left of the woman and hoisted her up through the walls. Something was happening outside. He could hear loud, inhuman sounds of the...thing's manifestation. But soon, everything was quiet and Evan stood alone in the basement._

"Well done, Evan!" _The voice was please._ "Very well done. Now you see what you must do. Do not let any of them escape, Evan. There are more, there will always be more. They are not welcome here! You must prepare! Construct more hooks and place all of their broken bodies upon them! Do this and you will for eternity and you will see wonders beyond anything you've ever seen."

 _The voice went quiet and before his very eyes Evan saw more bear traps appear before him. He looked at them for a moment. Bright yellow bear traps. Much too bright, much MUCH too bright. He had stored a bottle of tar in his father's office not too long ago. It might still be there. And there was a bag up there as well, one his father had used while hunting many years ago. Both would serve him nicely._

 _Evan MacMillan picked up one of the traps and walked back up to the Foundry._

 _There was work to be done._


	4. Arrogance and Punishment

Dwight Fairfield sat at the Campfire, staring out into the fog, waiting.

The dark, windy tunnels of the Hatch had led him back here again. The Hatch was another mystery of the Fog. No matter where it was found (and where it was found changed as everything else did out there) it somehow led back here to the Campfire. You just ended up here, with no real clue how, feeling like a drunkard waking up in a strange place after a night of heavy drinking. After a night like the one that had brought Dwight Fairfield here in the first place.

Dwight's work career had started as a humble pizza delivery driver. He made crap money and dealt with crap people who either didn't tip enough or didn't at all. For two years he had drove around town, delivering pizza to drunks on weekends, slobbish pot heads who didn't work during the week, and obscenely particular old women at any point. The worst was the Mrs. Larson, an old coot who lived by herself (or appeared to anyway) who, at some random day each week, would order the same thing: a medium pizza with pepperoni and pineapple and olives, heavy sauce, and a two liter. She would remind and insist that her pizza be a medium multiple times during her ordering, almost to the point of madness. Almost every time she received her pizza, she would call back the store and complain that something was wrong and demand a remake of the pizza. Matters were not helped by the fact that Larson had either dementia or Alzheimers, constantly forgetting what she had specifically ordered. The staff had learned to ignore anything that wasn't a medium pizza with pepperoni, pineapple, and olives along with a two liter. Did she order two pizzas with entirely different toppings? Did she order a pasta? Did she order a desert pizza and nothing else? It didn't matter. She'd get the medium pizza. Incredibly, doing this resulted in her complaining less.

After those two years, Dwight was finally promoted to manager with a meager pay raise of two bucks. He had already hated his job, began to hate it even more after his promotion, and was constantly on the look out for something else...anything else. But the economy had hit his town hard and not many places were hiring, especially people like him. Despite his general geeky appearance, Dwight had never been a great student. He was a B minus or C plus student most of the time in high school and he never had any hope of being able to afford college with his shitty pizza job that barely paid rent. There were not many opportunities available to him and thus, he was stuck. What was worse than being stuck was that he had no ambitions in his life. He was not particularly good at anything; he wasn't fit enough for sports, wasn't smart enough to teach any subject, had about as much creativity as a tree stump, had no skills or training of any kind, and lacked charisma and charm that graced his fellow students. The young Dwight Fairfield had no clue what he was going to do with himself, and had slowly become convinced that the world had no need for a guy like him. At his lowest point, the only thought that had kept him from suicide was the idea that doing so, as a less than mediocre student living in a cruddy apartment, working a dead end job would only make him seem more pathetic to the world at large. But there were still days that death would have been welcome...just so he didn't have to face an angry Mrs. Larson again.

Now, he sat here. By an eternally burning Campfire, in a world where death had no meaning.

How he had gotten here was as much a mystery as the Hatch. The Store Manager of his pizza place, a large man with a mean sense of humor, had led him and the rest of the management out into the woods as part of some team building exercise. Dwight had not been too keen on going, but the trip was mandatory and so he found himself hiking through the cold woods. After setting up tents, and after Dwight began to suspect that very little actual "team building" would actually occur, the Store Manager had set everyone down around a big campfire before busting out three jars of his family's moonshine. Being the newest addition to the management team, Dwight was allowed the honor of the first sip of the night. Not much of an alcoholic, but wanting to keep his job, Dwight had done so.

His next memory was waking up alone the following morning to a smoldering campfire and the tents gone. They had left him. The whole trip had been an elaborate prank on the "new guy" of the management team. Cold and still somewhat drunk from the strong moonshine, Dwight attempted to hike his way back to town. He stumbled through the woods for an hour before passing out again as the remains of the shine in his system melted his brain.

When he awoke, he found himself by the Campfire. At first he was convinced the whole thing had been a dream and that he would find tents around him with his drunk co-workers sleeping around him. But there were no tents and no other people. Where he had woken up was not the same place he had passed out. He sat in a clearing, surrounded by a heavy fog, and dimly lit by the low gloom of the moon up above. Frightened, but too exhausted to do anything, Dwight fell back asleep by the strange campfire. When he awoke again, he found the moon still out with no sign of morning or the fog clearing up. His watch was also broken, it's electronic display dark. Unnerved by his situation, but not wanting to stay in the woods, he hiked out into the trees again. He walked through the confusing maze of the forest before stumbling upon what appeared to be an abandoned junk yard, one that he'd never heard about existing in the woods near town. Regardless, he began to search the place for some sort of clue, or even someone living out there.

It was during the journey into the junkyard where he had first encountered the horrors stalking the Fog. It was during the journey into the junkyard where he first felt agony of the hook stuck into his shoulder. It was during the journey into the junkyard where he began to realize that he was in far more trouble than he had realized.

Footsteps.

Dwight turned just in time to see her disappear into the fog. He'd only seen her shape, but he knew who it was all the same. The Asian girl who never spoke and often moved out on her own. She never hung out around the Campfire for very long; always coming and going quickly and without a word to anyone.

The manager briefly considered following her, but he was too exhausted from his close escape from the Trapper. He laid down and closed his eyes and offered a small prayer to the girl as sleep took him.

...

Feng Min raced through the Fog, not giving the Campfire a second glance. She had a challenge to face out in the woods, and she was determined to meet it head on. She had no time to waste on the others back at the fire.

The young woman possessed a spirit that could be matched only by that of Ace Visconti. The Fog and its horrors did not sap her of her will and cast her into endless despair. Quite the contrary, Feng had found a surprising (almost insane) thrill in this strange world she had found herself in. Not at first, she would have admitted that if asked (thankfully, she never gave them the chance), but once she had come to understand this place, its rules, its defiance of normal laws of the real world did she realize that this was something she had worked for her entire life. This was not a nightmare, but a competition. A dangerous game where she took the role of Sanger Rainsford, and the creatures of the Fog were General Zaroff. Except here there was no penalty for failure. It truly was as if somebody had input an unlimited lives code, and the thought of this filled Feng with confidence. No matter what happened, no matter how much the Killers hurt her...she would come back. And the next time she'd win. She'd make sure of it.

Games and competition had been the bloodline of Feng's previous life. Ever since she was a little girl, she had thrived on computer games of all kinds and strides. MMOs, fighting, shooting, sports, survival...no matter the genre, if there was competition to be had, she was there and would do her very best to place herself at the top of the score boards. She had played for hours on end, sometimes days, as a child and as a teen, eventually forcing her concerned parents to intervene. Her grades had begun to slip and her social life was almost nonexistent. They wanted their daughter to focus on her schoolwork and building her career. What they didn't understand was that the gaming world WAS her career in her eyes. It was her life, and she was not about to let them get in the way. After a tense week following a huge argument, Feng disappeared from her home, having snuck out in the middle of the night. Fortunately, she had prepared for this. She'd save up money from her online streams on Twitch, where she was known by her username, TheShiningLion, and bought an apartment in the city.

With her parents out of the way, she focused on her new life. She played constantly. At home, at internet cafes, at LAN parties, where ever she could find. Her skills not only became known, but sought. Developers sent her access codes for their games for her to try. Players paid money for her to help them with missions in online games. Players would disconnect from games that the Shining Lion entered, for fear that her claws would tear them to pieces. She made appearances at tournaments where people applauded her eagerly when her name was called. The Shining Lion was the talk of gaming communities across the world and the web.

But then...it had all fallen apart.

The dark rows of trees gave way to a large clearing which contained piles of junked cars, buses, construction vehicles and an old decrepit workshop garage. It was the junkyard.

Feng crouched and slowly walked across the desolate ruins of Autohaven's Wreckers. She could see the garage up ahead. One of the generators would be in there. There always was. If there was one thing that Feng was skilled at, it was remembering layouts. She'd been here before. More than once. She knew where everything would be. All she needed to do was keep her eyes and ears alert. Watch for movement. Listen for the screams. They were the sign that she would be free to move unimpeded for a time.

The garage would be safe. The Killers were fast, but most of them were big and bulky. They couldn't navigate themselves through narrow spaces like windows quickly. She had managed to lead several of the Killer in circles around this very building in the past. They usually gave up in a fit of rage, hissing and growling as they ventured off to find easier prey. But some remained determined and would follow her around and around, growing more and more agitated with each pass. But it did not matter. She would evade them either the gates eventually got powered by the others trapped here with her, or she'd find the mysterious Hatch in the ground that lead back to the Campfire. It had been quite awhile since she had felt the cold touch of the hook.

Pausing for a brief moment to take another quick scan over her shoulder, Feng turned into the open metal door of the workshop.

There was no generator there. The work benches, the lockers, the junked car, the boarded up windows, the stairwell to the left that led to the basement...all remained where she remembered them. But the large generator was gone. A dark patch where it usually stood was visible in the dim moonlight. Aside that was a toolbox that appeared to have been dropped in a hurry, the contents spilled across the concrete floor. Fresh blood dripped from the junked car and was drying in streaks around the old metal box. Someone had been caught here not too long ago. But even if that was true, where had the generator gone?

A piercing caw rang suddenly from above, causing Feng to look up involuntary. She met cold eyes of one of the crows, nestled on the roof of the workshop.

"Get lost," She hissed softly up to the creature. "Beat it."

But the bird didn't. It stared at her, motionless, for a moment longer before issuing another loud bray into the night.

"Shut up!" She shot at it in a fierce whisper. "Yer gonna screw everything up!"

The crow brayed again in response. She didn't have time to argue with a rat with wings. Something had happened here in the workshop and she needed to figure out what. Perhaps the generator had been moved. Where ever it was, she needed to find it.

She heard the soft growl before first bong of the old bell. Just as the bell's voice rang out across the woods, she ran for the window in the back of the workshop. She didn't look back. She knew exactly what was behind her. By the time the second ring touched her ears she was at the window. By the third she was through it and broke into a sprint with fresh speed as she rounded the building. The beast noisely stepped through the window after her and began its chase. But before it could so much turn the corner, Feng was already way ahead of it on the other side of the workshop. There was another window parallel to the first on the other end. All she had to do was keep ahead of the beast and she'd live. There was nothing it could do to stop her, and she grinned when she realized that. Not even in the realms of hell could the Shining Lion be defeated.

The heavy footfalls of the monster were closing in, but were still a good feet away. She turned the corner and leaped through the window just as the thing from the fog swung its weapon. It missed her entirely and struck the window sill, sending shrapnel of wood chucks. The beast let out a bitter growl as it wrenched its weapon free.

 _U mad?_ Feng thought, instinctively, the grin returning to her lips. She turned to see the Wraith stepping through the window, its eyes fixed on her with a murderous rage. Yes, it was mad. Very mad. But that didn't matter. It's anger would only cause it to make more mistakes. She knew this fact well, and it filled her with confidence as she turned and continued towards the window.

She slammed her hands down on the window sill and was hoisting herself when something came out of the fog. Before Feng could get even a glimpse of it, a hard blow was delivered into her stomach, propelling her back into the workshop. Her body bounced off the edge of one of the chests before landing on the cold concrete floor. The Shining Lion moaned and tried to get back to her feet, waiting for the axe to fall on her, but it didn't. Dazed, she looked back towards the other window. The Wraith stood before her, its axe made from skull and bones clutched in its hand. It stared at her with such hate and murderous rage that Feng, now thrown from her winning strategy, knew she would have to endure.

"Enough of these games," A woman's voice broke through the tense silence, and once again, Feng's attention was involuntary shifted.

Something was stepping through the window. At first Feng could not identify it. All she could see were the blood red eyes that stared at her from the darkness. It was not until it stood in the dim light of the workshop that Feng saw it was the woman who had spoke. She was covered in shadows that seemed to drift off her like smoke. A cloak, as well as what appeared to be a sheath tied around her waist, bumped and draped over the window sill as she navigated her tall but slim body through the opening. A cold smile was on her lips as she stared down at what was once the Shining Lion, who stared back in disbelief. The bones of the skull axe rattled briefly, stealing Feng's attention. The Wraith continued to stare, the hand holding his weapon trembling with desire.

Never before had Feng Min encountered two Killers at once. Despite her fear of having to face the horrors of the hook again for the first time in what seemed like ages, an uncontrollable burst of anger flooded the Lion.

"No..." She breathed. "No...this isn't right. Who are you? You can't be here! You can't _both_ be here!"

The Shadow smiled at her for a moment longer before reaching down and unsheathing a long blade.

"How arrogant," She said, directing the tip of the blade at Feng's throat, silencing her. "You are merely prey in this realm, and yet you preach about fairness? Tsk tsk tsk." She shook her head, as if the mere existence of Feng Min revolted her. "I very much would like to remind you of your place. To make you humble. But there is no time at the moment. You have interrupted my work with Mr. Ojomo here, and I cannot allow that."

"Who are you?" Feng asked again. Her mind was racing, but she had to prevent herself from panicking. She had to stall. The longer this Shadow woman talked, the more time there was to find a way out of this mess.

The Shadow did not respond with question, but instead driving the tip of her sword into the young gamer's thigh. The Shining Lion let out a scream that echoed in the garage.

"Silence." The woman said, calmly, her smile never faltering. "I owe you no explanation." She raised her eyes. "Philip...if you would, please."

Before she could react, the filthy hands of the Wraith seized her and threw her to ground. In an instant later she felt the blade of the axe dig into her back, severing her spinal cord. Feng Min, the Shining Lion screamed into the night and continued to do so as the axe came down again.

And again.

And again.

And again...

…

Philip Ojomo wrenched his axe free and then stared at the limp body. He was appeased. It was not his first time chasing this little vermin, nor was it the first time she had made a mockery of him. To see her broken body soothed his spirit.

"Well done, Philip," He raised his eyes to hers, gazing into those red orbs. "These...'survivors' have gotten too comfortable. Wouldn't you agree? Did you see the way the she grinned at you. The mockery she made of you? To think that a big man such as yourself reduced to sham by a such a petite thing. To think that all the strength and power you possess, beaten by a tiny woman running in circles."

She reached a hand out towards him and Philip instinctively drew away from her, slightly. Even now her cold touch brought back the shadows of pain from his former life, memories of which floated around in his mind as cloudy as the Fog itself. He shivered as her hand fell onto his shoulder, but his eyes never left hers.

"Some of them think they are edging slowly to escape," The Shadow said, smiling. "That they've begun to unravel the riddles of the fog. It's good to let them think that. It's what keeps them coming back, what motivates them, what keeps them so...fresh. It's why it hands out little treats to them. But it's also important that they remain docile. Their raw terror is more delicious than their lingering hopes, you see. That's where you come in. You and the others, of course. If they feel as if they can overcome you, then that fear is lost. And you've been overcome many times, haven't you, Philip?"

Philip did not respond, nor react. Only stared back at her, waiting.

"The good news is that problem is not with you," She continued. "But rather with inefficiency. Specifically with that old bell of yours. And that's why I'm here: to offer some enhancements to the Wailing Bell's powers." She held out her hand.

For a few more moments, Philip didn't react. He glanced at the large cast iron bell in his hand. A part of him did not want to relinquish it. The Bell had become part of him, had given him strength. It hid his shame and removed him from this world that he no longer deserved to linger in. He only returned when the hunt began, creeping up on his victims before lifting the Axe to ring the old Bell, whose voice had instilled great panic and fear in those who were unlucky enough to hear it. But it was not without its flaws. While he walked the Spirit World of the Bell, his physical body could not touch the material world. To do so required the wail of the Bell. He was a creature of the dark, as was the Wailing Bell. Light burned it, burned him. Weakened its power. Some of the Survivors had learned this and scarcely hesitated to take advantage of them. This had cost him several sacrifices. But Philip, angry as he had been, furious even with the great pain they caused him, could not bring himself to hate the wretches souls of those he was required to hunt down. They were only trying to survive. It's what he would have done.

It's what he HAD done.

Finally, Philip held out the Bell. Though her fingers never touched the cast iron, the Bell, regardless, slowly slid out of his grasp. It hovered before her hand, and she maneuvered it into the air, where it hung in a veil of shadows. She stepped back and from her cloak produced the whip. It was a horrible thing to look at. It had once been a long black leather whip, but it scarcely resembled it now. A reddish stain shone from within the threads of the whip, bulging from whatever power that had been bestowed upon it. The lash at the end of it were pieces of the Beast of the Fog itself. The Entity, as he had known it. The Shadow unraveled the whip and, with one quick flick of her wrist, lashed it at the bell. The Bell wailed, but was almost lost in the whip's sharp crack that seemed to vibrate throughout the building. The stain from the whip was now etched into the body of the Bell, which now glowed ominously. The shadow draped Bell then slowly hovered back to him.

"There," She said, contently. "Take it."

He did. And once his fingers touched the cast iron, a jolt flared through his wretched body. A congested roar escaped his lips. The power of the Bell overtook him, this time without sounding its voice. He felt his soul leave his body and enter the Spirit World, which had long been his haven. But now it felt different. It now didn't feel like a cloak that was meant to hide him or his shame at what he was. What he had become. But it now felt like something that could be used as armor. Something that empowered him as well as hid him. He felt a connection to the world around him that had been absent before. The material world was no longer free from his touch anymore. He did not know how he knew this. But it was undeniably so.

"The inefficiencies of the Wailing Bell have been corrected," She said, the whip now disappearing into her cloak again. "I cannot remove its weakness to light, I'm afraid. Darkness is what grants it power, you see. However, the Bell can be temporarily empowered with symbols of power drawn onto its body. Let me know you." She waved her hand and the stained etches on the Bell began to move and rearrange themselves. They fused together to form a strange symbol on the Bell's body, the Entity's power glowed ominously from within. "The Baikra-Kaeug...a symbol of imperviousness. Draw it on body of the Wailing Bell and it will protect you from their lights. These symbols do not last forever, Philip, so you mustn't waste their power, and there are more that I can show you, Philip. Many more."

She stepped forward and, even though his soul was in the Spirit World, reached forward and placed an affectionate hand on his cheek. This time, her touch was strangely warm.

"Don't let us down, Philip," She said, softly. "We'll be watching." And then, before he could so much as blink, she was gone. Disappeared in a plume of shadows.

Philip Ojomo stood where he was for a moment.

Then he too left the workshop. His soul shimmered silently in the moonlight as he walked the Spirit World.


	5. Corruption - Ojomo's Concession

_"I have given you my answer," He says once again. "I will not work for you or your Entity. Let me leave now."_

 _She looks at him from her seat as she takes a thoughtful pull from her wine glass. He is a pathetic sight. He wears almost nothing except a tattered shroud that hangs around his shoulders in rags, barely covering his upper body. His thin hips and skinny legs are wrapped heavily in bloodied bandages. A worn utility belt is strapped around his waist. No shoes cover his bare feet. Ash, perhaps from the Campfire, has been smeared across his face and other parts of his body in an attempt to match the dreary fog outside._

 _"Your refusal is quite interesting to me, Mr. Ojomo," She said, smiling as she placed the wine glass back on the small table aside her. "I believe that many others who have faced the torments that you have for so long would leap at the opportunity to finally be free from that wretched campfire. To no longer live in fear, but rather to be feared."_

 _"If there are others," Philip Ojomo replied slowly, not being able to directly meet her eyes. Those horrible blood red eyes. "Then talk to them. I am not interested. Let me leave now."_

 _He spoke carefully. There was more in this dark room than just his shadowy host. The eyes of the darkened birds were on them. They were outside the light of the fireplace, but he could feel their cold gaze...feel its presence. The Entity. It was here, watching. Listening. He had felt its presence before on the hook. It was all around him now. There was nothing stopping its dark appendages from reaching out from the darkness and ending him forever, and he knew he was powerless to stop it. He also knew that it had fondness for the woman seated before him. He minded his manners._

 _"Come now, Mr. Ojomo," She replied. "Let's be reasonable, shall we? Out there you live the life of prey. You are hunted and you will only die again and again again as you already have again and again. And even if you manage to escape the clutches of the Killers, there's always the next trial. And the next. And the next after that, and so on. It is such a pathetic existence! But with me..."_

 _"I will not work with you or your Entity," He says again. "Let me leave now."_

 _"...there is so much more!" The Shadow continues. "I have learned so much here, Mr. Ojomo. I have seen marvels and powers that defy imagination. I have found the knowledge that I craved on Earth and more! Much more! The things it has shown me, the things it has given me! You can see them for yourself, Mr. Ojomo, if you just come with me. If you will just listen to its voice..."_

 _"No." He shook his head. "I will not work for you or your Entity. Let..."_

 _"Oh, give that a rest," She waves his words away. "There is much to be gained from joining me. From joining_ us _. All that you will find at the Campfire is endless torment. Why continue this charade?"_

 _"I am no Killer," He replies, firmly._

 _"Oh?" Her smile widens slightly. "But you are, Mr. Ojomo."_

 _"No," His grip tightens on the armrests. "You are a liar."_

 _"You are the liar, Mr. Ojomo. Not me."_

 _"I have killed no one."_

 _"You've killed several..."_

 _"No."_

 _"Hundreds, possibly."_

 _"No, that is not true. Azarov is a Killer. He is the one you want. Take him for your Entity."_

 _"Well, I COULD have taken him. And he most certainly would have been far more cooperative than you. However, that point is moot. He is dead."_

 _"Let me leave now."_

 _"YOU killed him, Mr. Ojomo."_

 _"No."_

 _"Just as you killed all those others..."_

 _"SHUT UP!" Philip roars, jumping to his feet. She watches him, that cold smile never faltering. "I am no Killer. Azarov was the Killer. Not me. You have no use for me. Let me leave now!"_

 _"What happened when you learned what was inside those vehicles, Mr. Ojomo?"_

 _"Let me leave now. I am warning you."_

 _"I am not afraid of you. You have no power here...not yet."_

 _"I am no Killer!" Ojomo barks, pointing at her. "I did not kill anyone! I am only a mechanic! I fix cars and sometimes crush them when they are no good! Nothing else! Azarov was the killer! Not me! I did not want to be involved in his crimes!"_

 _"But you were."_

 _"No!"_

 _"Yes. The cars had bodies in them, Mr. Ojomo. Almost every one of them. You crushed them all."_

 _"I did not know! Azarov...he lied to me!"_

 _"But you still killed them," She replied. "Whether you intended to or not...whether you knew or you were ignorant, these do not matter. The fact remains is that their blood is on your hands. Perhaps you are not to blame for their imprisonment, but you are the one who sealed their fate when you crushed them inside their steel cages. This is undeniable. Just as you then murdered the man who had fooled you."_

 _"Yes!" Philip Ojomo cried. "Yes! He deserved it! He put them in the cars! He did! He was the criminal! He deserved to die because he was an evil man!"_

 _She laughed. The sound chilled Ojomo to his bone. Not because it was the harsh laugh of a dark, raving madman...but because it was not. The light, thoroughly amused laugher that arose from her was at odds with her unholy appearance._

 _"You claim that you killed him out of some notion of righteousness?" She asked, when her chuckles had ceased. "How cute. You and I both know quite well that his death was not a matter of justice or sorrow for the lives he made you take. You killed him for yourself...for revenge."_

 _"You do not know anything!" Ojomo shook his head fiercely._

 _"I know far more than you will ever dream to. And you know that."_

 _"Azarov deserved to die! He was a criminal and a murderer! He killed people savagely!"_

 _"No, he left that to your oblivious soul," She said. "And in the end, it was his death that was the most savage of all."_

 _"I don't..."_

 _The words stopped on his lips as she laid something down next to her wine glass. When he saw what it was, a deep horror took hold of his heart. After he had left Autohaven Wreckers that horrible day, he had vowed that he would atone for what he had unwittingly done. Make up for the lives he had unknowingly extinguished. He find another job and work hard. Perhaps he would meet a woman and make her his wife. He would raise children and teach them the meaning of right and wrong, good and evil. And, as the years went on, he would make his compassion known and the horrors of what had happened in the forest that day would slowly disappear. In time he would forget. He would bury that knowledge deep inside himself, along with the anger that had consumed him. The powerful anger that had taken hold of him as the truth had been revealed to him. The anger that had caused him to take a life...except this time intentionally._

 _It was the skull and spinal column of his former boss. The hollow eyes of the skull stared at him. Even now, in this wretched place and with him long dead, Azarov's cold gaze still managed to find him._

 _"You didn't just kill Azarov." The Shadow said, softly. "You mutilated him. Threw his body into the crusher and watched as it slowly compressed him. Very poetic, I must say, taking his life the very way he forced you to do with so many others. Then, you saw his head sticking out from the machine. And you took_ this _out from his corpse." Her finger traced the bones of the spine. "Later on, you tried to dispose of it. Tried to rid yourself of it. Because it reminded you of what you had done."_

 _"No..." Ojomo replied. "No! I won't listen to you anymore! Let me leave now!"_

 _"Go ahead and go," She said._

 _Ojomo was still for a moment. That had not been the response he had expected. "I can go?"_

 _"Indeed."_

 _"You will not stop me?"_

 _"No. Go. You're a free man."_

 _He did not go. Instead, he looked up at the birds that watched from the beyond the light of the fireplace._

 _"Don't worry about them. They won't stop you." She paused. "Neither will it."_

 _Ojomo hesitated for a moment. Then, he moved past her and headed for the door._

 _"There's no way out of here, you know." She spoke up from behind him. He stopped. "From the fog, I mean. You can walk any trail you like, follow any path you find. They all lead back to the Campfire. The gates, the hatch, the hooks...death, there is no escape from this realm. That's the real secret of the fog, Mr. Ojomo: no matter how much you believe otherwise, there is nothing out there that can save any of you."_

 _"You lie," Ojomo replied. He said the words steadily enough, but his body trembled as the more agonizing cold blew over his soul._

 _"No, I'm afraid not," She said. "But suppose you did find some hatch that lead you back? What then, Mr. Ojomo? There is no future for you there. You'll just be a criminal to the population at large. Azarov was a criminal. He worked with criminals. They'll frame you for the crime. Then it will be you who they will come for. You might be able to flee to another country again, but with all the deaths that occurred at Autohaven Wreckers, someone will follow you, No matter which path you choose, you will spend the rest of your days running...the Hunt will never cease."_

 _"Then I will tell them." He says, turning back to her. She stands aside her chair, her cold eyes driving deep into his soul. "I will tell them there is nothing. They will stop leaving the Campfire. The Hunt will end because there will not be one."_

 _"You think they'll believe you?" She retorts, chuckling softly. "They've all entertained the thought. Each and every one of them have sat beside the fire and wondered 'what if'? What if there really is no way out of this fog? But they'll still go. They all will, even those whose very souls tremble at the thought of what is out there waiting for them. Because, at some point, they realize that the only thing worse than a hook in their shoulder is the pain from sitting on their rumps helplessly for so long. Eventually, they simply must try again."_

 _Ojomo stood for a moment. He wanted to respond. To call her a liar again. But there was no point._

 _He left her Study then. Moments after walking through the stone doorway and out into the stony hall of the castle, he found himself, suddenly but without much surprise, back at the gloomy Campfire. She was lying, she had to be. There had to be a way out of this hell. He had found a way into the fog. There was bound to be a way out. It was somewhere out there. He would find it, and he would save the lives of those stuck here with him. All of them. Enough souls to atone for those that had been taken by the crusher. He would be cleansed. There was no time to waste. He quickly set out into the dreary fog._

 _He found no exit during his journey. Only the hook. Going back into the woods gave him only the same._

 _And then again._

 _And then again._

 _And then again._

 _And then again._

 _And then again._

 _And then again._

 _He could feel his soul dying. The hooks became more and more haunting, but no matter how desperately he struggled he could never escape from his hunters before they flung his weak body onto them._

 _During his final trial as a Survivor from the Campfire, he had managed to evade his pursuer long enough for the Gates to receive their power. One poor soul had already been claimed by the Entity. Another was strung the instant the final generator was repaired. Philip and his last remaining comrade opened one of the two gates before heading towards the screams of the ritual. His new comrade was particularly insistent on not leaving the hanged man behind._

 _As they approached the hook they saw no sign of the Killer. It had been the man with the grinning mask made of bone. At the urging of his partner, Philip ran for the hooked Survivor. In his haste, the knowledge of the open exit gate filling his heart with hope, he lost his caution. Mere feet from the hook, the jaws of a trap hidden in the tall grass. His own screams seemed to echo in his mind. His partner then ran in from behind and quickly wrenched the wretch from the hook. A First Aid Kit lay on the grass by the hook, having been dropped during the ritual. A syringe was produced from it and suddenly the injured man stood upright with no ill effects of his capture._

 _"Lets go." Ojomo's previous partner said. "Leave the nigger. Let's go!" The other nodded and they both left without a second look._

 _Tricked again._

 _The pain was overwhelming, but he no longer screamed because of it._

 _He was done. No more._

 _With rage motivating him, he pried the jaws of the trap open and freed his leg. He no longer cared about the pain. The anger was overtaking it. He moved towards the gate, but as he moved he grabbed two things. The first was a brick from the derelict buildings around him and fragments from one of the pallets that had been smashed. A long splinter of wood and the length of rope that had held the boards together. As he crafted he hurried as fast as he could. He thought he could feel something pushing him along, hastening him. But he did not care enough to find out for sure._

 _He caught the two just as they began to pass through the gate. Their fear of the traps had slowed them. One quick blow to the head with his makeshift weapon dropped his former partner to the ground, his blood painting the ground. The one who had suffered the hook was next. The brick plowed into his gut and then directly onto his head as he doubled over in pain. When he was dead, Philip saw that his old partner was crawling. The Campfire flickered in the distance, and that was all the man could see, and he went towards as fast as his broken body would take him._

 _Just as he began to pass the threshold, Ojomo reached down and grabbed the man's ankle and yanked him back. He had no idea how long he would have gone on striking the man's head. It was only when he glimpsed the Campfire did his rampage finally end. That forever burning fire. He no longer wanted it. Nor did he have anything more to offer those remaining around it. He would be tricked no more._

 _He turned his back to the Campfire. Somewhere in the Fog, the Shadow smiled._


End file.
